


the strength of his arm, my lover caught me off guard

by binkbonk



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Crying jag, Galra Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e08 The Blade of Marmora, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 18:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15370464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binkbonk/pseuds/binkbonk
Summary: keith has trouble coping with his ancestry and shiro is there to be his rock (as always)





	the strength of his arm, my lover caught me off guard

**Author's Note:**

> im not totally sure what to put here lmao but uhhhh this is my first fanfic ever and it probably shows but idk i hope somebody gets enjoyment out of it  
> (also the title is from “Drawn to the Blood” by Sufjan Stevens

The ride back to the castle in the red lion is dead silent. Either Kolivan picks up on the tension and decides not to pry, or he just doesn’t care for Earth things like “small talk”, because he is as quiet as the paladins in the cockpit with him.

Keith tries to focus all his attention on getting them home safely so he doesn’t have to think about... recent developments, but they squirm into the forefront of his mind anyway.

 

_The only way this is possible is if Galra blood runs through your veins._

 

Red nudges into his conscience, and her worry thrums against his temples. He shuts her out, communicating something along the lines of “not now”. She acquiesces, and retreats, her temper from earlier nowhere to be seen.

Shiro pretends he doesn’t notice Keith’s hands shaking on the controls.

—

Kolivan is introduced to the team once the trio returns, and Keith hesitantly relays his newfound discovery (he can’t help noticing that they all look so _scared_ — they’re _scared of him_ ). They discuss things for a while before Allura calls the meeting off, claiming that each of them need rest and time to think things over before a plan can be formulated against the Galra.

Against him.

It’s implied, but it’s there.  
Keith has been left by too many to not know what’s coming.

When a heavy hand lands on his uninjured shoulder he flinches, only to look up and find storm-grey eyes assessing him, brows knotted in concern.

“S-sorry,” he murmurs, cursing inwardly at his reaction to the touch.

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Shiro cracks a soft smile, but it falters when his gaze roams over Keith’s right arm. “That looks pretty bad... pod’ll fix it right up though!”

Keith freezes. Even on a good day, a healing pod would leave him too vulnerable and wet for his liking, but now...

If they wanted to get rid of him, he’d have no means to fight back.

“....Keith?”  
“I don’t need one,” he manages. “I’m fine.”  
“But Keith... your arm... you really should-“  
“I said I’m fine!” the words come out of him laced with fire and static. He feels overcharged, so full of electricity that his hair could stand on end, only there’s nowhere to channel it. It’s all stuck inside of him, dancing in his ribcage and making his heart work double time. A mantra pulses through his body:

 

_Galra_

_Galra_

_Galra_

_Galr-_

 

“Are... are you sure?” Shiro’s cuts through his internal tempest, looking at him quizzically.

  
“Positive,” he grits out.

  
Shiro pauses, and runs a hand through his fringe. Then, he’s looking at Keith once again with concern plastered on his features. “At least let me help you get cleaned up.”

  
He attempts to put his hand on Keith’s shoulder once more, and the younger man doesn’t flinch this time around. Keith grudgingly allows himself to be led into his room.

—

The sound of the tub filling with water almost makes up for the lack of conversation between the two men.  
Keith is sitting on top of his bathroom toilet, robotically removing the armored plates of his paladin suit. He lets himself smirk ruefully when he realizes this is probably the last time he’ll ever wear it.

Monsters aren’t cut out to pilot Voltron.

Shiro turns off the faucet and fixes his attention on Keith, who is now staring listlessly at the wall with armor surrounding him on the floor like fallen petals. However, his gaze wearily starts to follow Shiro’s arm when it lifts from his side and tugs at the collar of Keith’s stretchy black under-suit, silently asking permission. The younger man gives a tired, small nod in answer.

The left arm easily slides out of the fabric, but when Shiro starts to work on the other side, he notices Keith’s bruised features pull up in a wince before he regains his stoicism.

“Keith—i— this is probably gonna—“

  
“I know, just...” Keith clutches onto the front of Shiro’s shirt to brace himself. “Just do it.”

The laceration Keith sustained during the trials has made a half-assed attempt at scabbing over, and as Shiro gingerly peels the suit off of lithe shoulders, Keith twists the t-shirt in his hand and lets out a small hiss that sounds a little like “fuck”, through gritted teeth. Pain that feels something like a dozen needles poking into his right side has him reeling as the wound rips open and oozes fresh blood. Shiro is suddenly dizzy when he notices how deep it goes, and halts his efforts to regain his composure. He pulls in a shaky breath before rasping “holy shit, Keith...”

He’s breathing heavy and trembling, but Keith still urges “‘s okay, keep going.”

Shiro tries to remove the clothing as gently as possible, murmuring ministrations whenever Keith flinches or tugs harder on the tee— Keith only focuses in every so often, but when he does he hears things like “hey, it’s okay, almost done” and “I know it hurts... shit I’m so sorry”—and when the fabric finally releases its grip on the wound and falls down his slender back, Keith lets out a small whimper.

Shiro swears his heart plops into his stomach.

Once Keith is undressed, Shiro holds out his forearm and Keith grasps it in both hands, mechanically being led into the warm water. He pulls his knees up to his chest and stays that way as Shiro rinses the wound and scrubs away any grime leftover from the fight— he tries not to think about the violent bruises painting his partner’s skin, or how the water is being stained a very light pink due to the blood that is still trickling down Keith’s muscled back.

Keith lets firm hands— one calloused and warm, the other smooth, cold metal—run over his body as he once again gets lost in his own head.

 

_You fight like a Galra soldier_

_You’re just thinking of yourself because you’re too scared to do what’s right!_

_You’re only thinking of yourself as usual!_

_Then you’ve chosen to be alone._

 

“eith?... Keith?”

He’s brought back to Earth (well, not Earth, but whatever) by Shiro’s calling and a hand tentatively pressed to Keith’s cheek.

“Sorry, what did you say?”  
Keith expects him to be annoyed by now at his spacing out, but all Shiro does is hold out his hands and repeat himself. “Are you ready?”  
Keith takes hold and is guided out of the tub and onto the rim. Shiro kneels below him on the tile floor, towel in hand, ready to dry him off.

—

“This is going to sting,” Shiro warns as he wets a rag with antiseptic. Keith merely nods in acknowledgement and scrunches his face when the cold rag is pressed to his shoulder.

It isn’t until Shiro is wrapping the cut in gauze that Keith speaks without being prodded beforehand. His head is dropped, shoulders taut, face hidden by raven hair, when he says, “why?”

The question was so quiet that Shiro wonders if he was even supposed to hear. Nevertheless he tucks the gauze into itself and looks to Keith, perplexed. “Why what?”

He looks down at the smaller boy’s hands and notices they are in tight fists on his thighs, digging into his palms. Shiro puts his own hands over them, turning each over and frowning as he rubs the half moons Keith’s nails left behind.

  
There’s a stretch of silence before keith answers, even more vulnerable than before.

 

“Why are you still here?”

 

Shiro’s heard this from him before, what seems like a lifetime ago, when desert storms and garrison scores were all the duo worried about.

Keith had ran into the desert after slugging some asshole in the face because he’d said some nasty things about his parents—“I bet your mom just couldn’t stand what a _**freak**_ you are!”— and Shiro had found him curled up behind a rock, wiping snot on his sleeve.

Years later, he’s asking the same question, and Shiro gives him a reply identical to the first—

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Keith snaps his head up, wide violet eyes gazing into Shiro’s. His face is soft and fond; such a sharp contrast to the hologram who left him behind just vargas ago that it gives him metaphorical whiplash.

Suddenly he can’t take it anymore; all his walls are smashed to pieces and his face crumples into a sob. Shiro’s prepared, of course— he knew Keith would shatter as soon as that mission ended, it was just a matter of time.  
He brings his friend to the cold tile and envelops him in an embrace. The body pressed against him wracks and shudders.

“There you go, baby, just let go.”

At this Keith makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Shiro merely presses his lips to long, dark bangs and whispers,  
“I’m so proud of you.”

Nails dig into Shiro’s back, but it barely registers through his heart pounding in his throat.

—

They sit like that for a long time, with Keith gasping into Shiro’s chest and Shiro rubbing soft circles into the younger man’s back.

Eventually Keith’s breathing settles into something less concerning, and they just sit there in silence.

Shiro presses a kiss to the top of Keith’s head and murmurs, “feel better?”

He hears a soft hum of affirmation and a tear-ravaged voice say, “I think I’d like to sleep now.”

He squeezes Keith a little tighter before whispering, “okay.”

—

Shiro sets Keith down in his bed and turns to leave when he feels a tug on his sleeve.

When he turns to look back, intense, desperate eyes stare at him.

“stay?” Keith asks, and then his eyes widen, as if shocked he let himself say what he wanted.

Shiro just smiles his sad smile—god, he always looks so _sad_ now—and leans in to kiss his forehead.

“Of course,” his lips move against smooth, pale skin. “Just getting you some of those painkillers Allura told us about.”

He runs the fingers of his prosthetic through soft black tresses. “I’ll be back soon.”

Keith looks slightly more convinced and allows him to go.

—

“Shiro... Do I.... Remind you of them?”

He hears Shiro sigh from deep within his chest. “Keith, please, this changes nothing.”

“They _hurt_ you. How do you know I won’t do the same?”

“I _know_ you. I _trust_ you. I’m sure if you ever hurt me, you’d have good reason to.”

“But-“

“Please rest, Keith. You need it.”

Keith makes to protest but is placated by the metal hand on his waist, thumb stroking up and down. Fuck the others, he muses. All he’s ever needed was Shiro, and Shiro never ceases to be there, grounding him. Let them be afraid. Let them be angry. So long as Shiro’s in his corner, Keith could care less.

He sighs, nuzzles into the warm, solid body underneath him, and falls asleep to the steady thump of Shiro’s heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave constructive criticism/thoughts/whatever in the comments ???? thanks for reading, it is appreciated


End file.
